


Broken Blood

by BallofYarn



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: BATIM, Betrayal, Gen, bendy - Freeform, hyde - Freeform, mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-12 00:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BallofYarn/pseuds/BallofYarn
Summary: Henry and Joey Drew were once close business partners...but one man's foolish actions lead to their separation and consequently, the desire for vengeance.





	Broken Blood

Henry’s pen glided across the surface of the paper, strokes so carefully and lovingly placed it seemed like an effortless feat of magic. And in a way, it was. Several pen strokes, some paper, and a spark of imagination could take a single still character on whatever adventure he wanted them to. Reaching the highest of heights, exploring the great depths and anywhere in between. To Henry, it was the closest thing this world had to magic.

_Ding-dong_

_Ding-dong_

The melodic chime of the work bell echoed through the deep wooden halls, its sound causing a spell to raise everyone from their positions and begin packing up for their long-awaited trip home. Henry returned the pen to its inkwell and lightly tapped his frames together against the surface of the desk, a light tap of work yet unfinished.

After slipping on his coat, the man turned to follow the crowd of anxiously fleeing employees, only to stop in his tracks. His dark eyes locked with a similar pair of heterochromatic ones—the only man to have a pair quite like this:

“Joey,”

Henry’s boss leaned against the frame entrance, his hands placed delicately on a battered wooden cane before him. A friendly grin grew across aging cheeks as he readjusted his position at the moment of being noticed.

“I know it’s been a long day, Henry,” Joey said, reaching out a hand to rest on the said artist’s shoulder. This immediately signaled to him that he wasn’t going to get off so easily. The man frowned deeply as Joey continued. “And I know you want to get home but…there’s something I need to show you.”

“It can’t wait?” Henry suggested softly, an aching hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I mean…I worked a fourteen-hour shift today and I kinda just—”

“Oh, I can assure you I will get you home as soon as possible!” his boss interrupted confidently as he patted his shoulder and took a slow step back. “It won’t take long at all, just come with me to my office, won’t you?”

Seeing as he had no other choice, Henry nodded slowly and followed behind him as requested. There was definitely something…unusual about this encounter. Joey didn’t just _ask_ people to come to his office. Heck, most of the time he didn’t allow people to even come in. The suspicion created a sour taste in Henry’s mouth but seeing as Joey promised a ‘short encounter’, he supposed he could afford to spend a couple extra minutes here. As long as he was getting paid overtime, that is.

“Henry,” Joey began again as he welcomed him into his disaster zone of an office, his back turned to him. “When we decided to begin my studio together three years ago, we talked about turning dreams into reality. Do you remember?”

Henry said nothing as his gaze scanned the small room; papers were littered everywhere, insane scrawls of ink bled into the walls in incomprehensible phrases. A box shape covered with an old towel was stranded in the corner ominously. His brows furrowed in confusion and concern as he jolted back to reality and nodded at the question being asked.

“Yes,” he replied quietly. Joey turned to look over his shoulder, his brows curled in a curiously pleased manner.

“I’ve done it.”

Those three words hung in the air like smoke, the artists’ eyes fluttering in confusion and disbelief. Joey wasn’t…serious, was he? After all…

“Joey,” Henry chuckled, almost concerned for his boss. “Isn’t…that what we’ve been doing all this time? The animations, remember?”

It was a low chuckle that echoed through the lungs of Mr. Drew that planted doubts into Henry’s mind. Very clearly there was something missing. Something he wasn’t aware of.

Something hiding in plain sight.

“Oh, Henry,” Joey drawled with half-lidded eyes. “Henry, you need to think _bigger_ than that. Beyond the possible. The animations…yes, that was a dream but those are nothing but a stepping stone in a bigger, more profitable reality.”

Henry always hated that word— _profitable_. It was as if all he worked for was now only worth the amount of money it could collect rather than the smiles it brought to people all across America.

His boss had always had a fear of losing. It was the near-bankruptcy of the _Ivy_ show that set in motion a series of cartoons in which Joey was now walking on eggshells to create bigger, better and more successful products. He couldn’t be too careful—he needed as much franchising as he could squeeze out of his little 5-minute cartoons of his. Never again would he have to face that kind of failure.

No, this time…he would _win_.

“The cartoons have been working for us just fine,” Henry reminded him, gesturing in the direction the art room was located. “The toys have been successful, and when the theme park opens I’m sure that will bring in plenty of money. I…I don’t see what else you could possibly want or wish for…”

“Theme parks, toys…” Joey muttered, the tip of his cane tapping against the wood floor in frustration. “They’re good, but they aren’t _original. Unique. Ground-breaking_. We need something…different. Something like the world has never seen before. And that,” he raised a finger in the air. “Is what I have to show you tonight, my friend.”

Henry’s lips parted in both confusion and wonder as he watched his boss pull off the old towel from the box, which was soon revealed to be a pet carrier. This revelation only made the artist even more dumbstruck until Joey bent over to unlock the wire door of the kennel. It slowly swung open with a creak, and he turned his head up to meet Henry’s gaze excitedly.

“A marvel,” he announced in almost a whisper. “that of which the world has never seen before.”

And almost as if whatever was waiting inside the kennel was waiting for that queue, Henry gasped as he saw a single, glowing light shine from inside. Whatever it was…it already had formed a knot in the artist’s stomach, even before it was able to crawl its way out on its frail arms and legs.

The creature was petite, short in stature but also very frail and almost skeletal. Large, curling horns pierced through the sides of its lopsided head, making it quite awkward for it to leave the cage. Its breathing was coarse, as if it was being run through a grinder and its voice like a choppy, young spirit.

“ _Oh, hOw lOvelY iT is tO hAVe yOu aLL HerE toDAy_ ,” it croaked as it began wandering around the perimeter of the office, its steps imbalanced by the weight of the head and unnatural proportions.

Henry’s eyes were about ready to pop out of their sockets as he observed the alien-like abomination. This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be real…how was this possible?”

“What,” Henry’s voice shook as he spoke, as did the finger he used to point at the monster. “in the _hell_ … _is_ that thing, Joey…?”

“An example of better things to come,” Joey said proudly, hands perched on the handle of his cane. “It’s merely a test, but—”

“No, Joey,” Henry jerked his attention back to his boss, his eyes lighting up with terror. “ _What. Is. It._ Tell me now.”

The frail man stood up straighter at the directness of the man before him, his eyes fluttering for a moment in surprise. “I—it’s Ivy, of course,” he said matter-of-fact. “Remember her? From the birth years of this studio? Henry, she’s alive. A living, breathing cartoon.”

“You’re not counting on making ticket sales with that… _thing_ , are you?” Henry asked, his body still tense as he shifted his gaze constantly back and forth between the creator and the created.

“No, of course not,” Joey grinned. “This one’s merely a test run. But it works! I’ll just run it through another time and…patch up the holes.”

This made Henry pause, his shoulders lowering but still retaining their tension. At the sight of this, Joey frowned and opened his mouth to speak until the artist interrupted before he could even begin.

“How did you do this, Joey?”

“I…well, I made a machine—”

“ _You killed her._ ”

Three words. Three words that made Joey shift from being only mildly concerned to snapping with anger.

“SHE WAS _DYING--!”_

“THIS IS WHAT NORMAN WAS TALKING ABOUT,” Henry marched up to the man and grabbed him by the shirt collar, easily lifting him a few inches off the ground. “HERE WE ALL THOUGHT THAT HE HAD LOST HIS MARBLES, BUT IT WAS YOU! YOU KILLED YOUR OWN DAUGHTER TO USE FOR YOUR SICK ATTRACTION!”

“SHE IS ALIVE, HENRY!!” Joey growled as he clawed at the taller man’s arms. “SHE IS ALIVE AND SOON SHE WILL BE THE STAR OF MY NEW SHOW!”

“No…you only want her for yourself and your _DISGUSTING GREED_!” With that, the artist threw his crippled boss to the ground, the said man slamming into the floorboards and grasping the back of his head in pain.

“And then,” Henry snarled down at the man, now backed into a corner. “You fired Norman. Not because of his insanity, like you told us—but because of _yours_.”

Joey’s breathing was rapid, his arms raised defensively to protect from any blow Henry might offer. But the artist didn’t throw any punches, kicks or anything. He simply glared into the eyes of a sinful, greedy father.

And then…his eyes glossed over, paired with a trembling lip. Joey’s brows furrowed as he watched Henry fight back a flood of tears.

“I never,” he choked. “would have expected this…especially coming from my own brother.”

His boss sat up straighter, his own eyes seeming to shine as well as they looked into those of his kin.

“Mom…Dad…Charlotte…Mary-Jane…” Henry shook his head. “Even Linda and I loved you and…believed in you. We supported your dreams because we thought you could change the world.”

“I am changing the world,” Joey said softly as he offered a hand out. “It’s not as bad as it appears, Henry. Just…trust me. This park…with this kind of power, we can create the kind of reality we always wanted as kids. Where with just a snap of our fingers and a little bit of ink, we can create anything our hearts desire. And we will change the way the next generation will see cartoons…forever. Henry, brother…won’t you join me in fueling the hopes and dreams of kids everywhere?”

The silence between them now was thick, as the same blood that was pumping through their veins seemed to be flowing in very, very different directions. Henry’s eyes lowered to the outstretched hand of the man before him, the hand he had held every step of the way since they were young. The hand that would hold him close on stormy nights and ruffle his hair at playtime. The hand that once held the squirming bundle of a baby girl and yet the same hand that betrayed her. The hand that pointed to Norman and falsely accused him of insanity. Yes, this very hand had done some awful things in the past but…also good, right?

After all…Joey was still his family…

Right?

_“No.”_

Joey’s hand pulled back slowly a he stared wide-eyed at the artist in disbelief. _“No?”_

“If your idea of hopes and dreams is to…take innocent lives and mold them into your idea of a star and…trick young kids into thinking that they can do anything they want to if they believe…all to make a quick buck, then I don’t want any part of it.”

He stepped back, refraining from laying a hand on his family…even though…

“I’m leaving, Joey.” He muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m leaving the studio and I’m leaving you. Don’t bother coming to see me. And don’t bother calling me brother, either. I’m done with you.”

The older man was left speechless on the rotting wood beneath, panting as he watched Henry take slow steps towards the door. No…he couldn’t be so foolish as to leave now, could he?

“You’re wrong, Henry,” Joey called after him, causing him to pause and shake his head.

“I was wrong to ever trust you,” Henry growled, his back remaining turned to him. “But…I’m not wrong anymore.”

“No,” Joey corrected, pulling himself back up to his feet. “You’re wrong about Norman.”

It was then that the old lights flickered out, and the artists’ eyes widened trying to absorb any bit of light he could, but he simply could not see his own hand in front of his face. It was as if his eyes were closed, but he knew for a fact they weren’t.

The door…where was the door??

“I never fired Norman,” Joey said with a sinister smile that Henry could not detect. “I simply…silenced him. Just as I am about to do to you now.”

Behind the trembling form of Henry, a bright light shone and illuminated the nervous drops of sweat beading on the back of the man’s neck. With such a sudden light in a pitch-black room, Henry’s eyes squinted with a grunt as he turned to find where the light was coming from.

And then…the whirring. The quick, flapping sound of frames being run one by one through a projector—yes, Henry knew that sound very well. But the sound he didn’t know was the unnatural, distorted growling that came with it. This certainly wasn’t a projector—it was a man.

It was a being with the body of a man, but its head was replaced with the bright, flickering light of a projector that tilted and squeaked as it came closer to the artist. Henry, quite literally, was seeing his life flash before his eyes.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Joey said quietly before being hit with the ear-splitting screech of a projectionist grasping its prey.

“But dreams wait…for no one.”


End file.
